This is the ‘Zero-Bridge’
away from the city and its hubbub,
rapt in meditation of the tranquil mesa,
a recluse, solitary, and stripped.
Poised on the embankment are the same-sized poplars,
as ready in a row for Id-prayers;
There, those silent and white house-boats
are being laved in the light of the waning moon,
in the eddies of the Vyath
powdered silver glistens.
This is the ‘Zero-Bridge’;
'O’, a queer dot
wherein all numbers vanish and re-emerge;
one who remains confined to closets,
cannot enjoy the dizziness of heights.
There at the top of the mountain is a temple,
man, in all times,
erects thrones for his Lover at heights;
Lord, you deserve all praise,
make the dew-drops shine as stars.
They say, there is a highway beyond the visible
leading to some unknown city;
who can escape the orbit of ‘being’
as one jumps out over a thorny fence?
Who is there to set ablaze the tree of life?
every twig of which lactates when suck;
there in the verdure of that chinar tree
is slumbering the gleam of the moon,
the late-night hour is intensely felt
as the cricket chirps.
Can at this hour my oblivious Love
remember me even in his dreams?
In early spring
even the fruitless willow sprouts.
The quiet surroundings vibrate without strings,
every note is merged with every other,
my soul also sings something inwardly.
Nature, too, has a penchant for art,
shadows give rise to a variety of patterns;
what are we, but the colour of patterns
that lose our luster slowly in sunshine?
There will be a day when shadows will vanish,
and all these multi-hued patterns will vanish,
a mono-chrome light will converge in a dot,
and, over the Vyath of life, away from the hubbub,
every person will become a ‘Zero-Bridge’.
Translated by Shafi Shauq